


Forbidden

by EnterprisingWayne



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pedophilia, guilty Alfred, precocious Bruce, questionable reasoning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-11 15:05:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3330380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnterprisingWayne/pseuds/EnterprisingWayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"...when did you start liking me, anyways?"</p>
<p>Alfred's stomach dropped. He knew his eyes had widened, Bruce watched him so carefully. He moistened his lips, not wanting to ruin the mood. "Earlier than you started liking me, I'm sure."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forbidden

"Jab, jab, right..... Jab, jab, right again. C'mon Bruce, that's it!" 

The young boy ducked another swing of the wooden sword before coming back with his own. Alfred could see the sweat glistening at Bruce's temples as he darted forward, those scant few seconds when the boy was within reach and his eyes were wide and focused. Alfred could even see the little fringe of hair around his ears was curled and glistening. Those moments when the details of Bruce Wayne came into high definition nearly threw the butler off, and this time he received a mild blow to his side for his distraction before the boy was back at arm's length again. 

Bruce was getting good at this. There was no question about that. Still, he looked to Alfred for the next move, for guidance in the next step of their battle dance, and as well as that meant he was following direction, Alfred knew he would have to train Bruce out of it before he became predictable. 

They rounded each other again, and this time Alfred refrained from his verbal cues, hoping Bruce would put what he'd learned together well enough for an unexpected strike. When it came, when Alfred crossed the space between them in one long step, he knew by the widening of Bruce's eyes he'd expected too much too soon. 

The boy took a blow to the side and went down immediately. He let out a grunt of pain as he hit the ground. The grass was soft enough to land on, but the blow had hit Bruce harder than Alfred had anticipated. Usually the boy popped right back up again, determined to appear strong and to learn to ignore pain. This time, Bruce pressed a hand to his ribs, lips slightly parted while he gasped for breath. _Shock_. Possibly just from surprise, although it did spark a worry that the practice sword had made contact at a particularly bad angle.

Alfred had just started forward when Bruce shakily got back to his feet. "...fine, I'm fine," he said, offering reassurances before Alfred could say a word. Bruce looked a bit paler than normal, but the determined set to his eyes and mouth had reappeared. The expression was becoming familiar, perhaps a bit too much so; one more sign that Bruce's childhood had cracked and shattered, that he was trapped between a mix of innocence and life's sorrows at far too young an age.

"No," Alfred shook his head, dropping the sword and loosening the ties on his gloves. "I'll not have you practice while injured. Go get cleaned up and then I'll have a look at it. Make sure you haven't cracked a rib or anything." 

Bruce's eyes flashed in defiance and Alfred's shoulders straightened, squaring against an argument should it come. He gave the boy a hard stare and watched the process of Bruce weighing out whether pushing the issue was worth it or not. Sometimes Bruce overruled his orders without batting an eyelash. Those instances occasionally dumbfounded Alfred until he remembered that Bruce's father was not going to step around the corner and overrule his son in return. 

Bruce's word was final now. Except when Alfred's was. It was all very confusing still. 

Alfred raised a brow, knowing Bruce would lose this particular power play. "Grab the salve off the bottom shelf in the cabinet on your way back," Alfred added before he set about picking up the equipment they'd strewn about the lawn. 

Bruce's stubborn expression shifted around the edges. The change was subtle, but no less unnerving than when Alfred had seen it before. A calculating glint had sparked in the boy's pale eyes.

For Bruce, that could mean anything from a stubborn refusal to cooperate to secret antics planned for later, more lies and things he'd try to keep concealed from Alfred. The latter appeared to be more likely; Bruce stared at Alfred for a moment more, then began unlacing his gloves. He dropped them on the ground and ran off towards the bathroom before Alfred could object, knowing the older man would tidy up after him.

A small shiver ran down Alfred's back. As soon as he was out of the boy's presence, he was reminded just how unusual it was to be _in_ Bruce's presence, alone, knowing that they would remain that way without interruption for the foreseeable future. And that, too, was disconcerting. When the Waynes were alive, Alfred had not often thought of such things. Not in the way he did now. Sure he and Bruce had spent time together alone, but it was always with the expectation that it would not remain that way for long. Alfred would soon be called away to the kitchen to oversee Mrs. Wayne's plans for their upcoming guests, or Mr. Wayne would stroll in to catch up on his son's studies. And even if Alfred found himself following the set of Bruce's clear eyes as the boy focused in the study on some puzzle or another, or admiring the way he perched his small self atop the sofa, legs tucked under him, it was all business as usual. 

Alfred often preferred moving through the Waynes’ lives that way, often unseen but usually appreciated, and rarely asked to dredge up his own life experiences. Though he had his opinions, he was not sure he was the sort of person cut out to be giving advice. Certainly he was not father material. 

Alfred gathered up the abandoned gloves and made his way back inside. He put the equipment away, listening to the quiet thrum of water rushing through old pipes. For the moment, it sounded like Bruce was doing as he'd been told. 

The sound itself brought other images floating up to Alfred’s mind: vulnerability and water-soaked skin, the small body Alfred remembered helping to care for sprouting up, all slenderness and bones that promised to fill out into a strong frame when Bruce finally stopped growing. 

It was yet to be seen exactly what sort of mind was going to grow into that body. 

Alfred had more than a small measure of experience with dealing with post-traumatic stress, but always with other adults who had accompanied him out into the field. He had no notion of whether a child would respond favorably to the same ways of coping.

Lost in thought, Alfred missed hearing the water shut off. Missed, too, the quiet footsteps of bare feet across carpet. It was only when one of the floorboards creaked behind him that he turned with a rush of adrenaline only to see Bruce right behind him, bare but for a poorly-tied towel around his waist, jar of salve in hand.

Alfred froze. He couldn't hide the way his eyes widened, nor the stricken look that surely passed across his face. All semblance of authority fell away as he straightened and cast his eyes elsewhere, anywhere elsewhere, about the room. He coughed and, to his frustration, his voice came out far less stern than he intended. "Why don't you get dressed? No need to catch cold to go along with that bruised rib, hm?" 

It was a weak excuse at best. Alfred knew it as he straightened a stack of books on the coffee table that didn't necessarily need straightening. It was a pleasantly sunny day and Bruce already knew the myth of catching cold simply from cool temperatures. 

"Nah. It's not that cold today. I'll do it when we're done." It might have just been a trick of the light, but Alfred imagined that there was a slight upward tilt to the boy's mouth. Bruce moved closer and held out the jar. He couldn't quite hide a slight flinch as his arm rose, nor the reddening patch of skin near his ribs where the blow had landed. "So... how do you want me? Standing, or is it easier if we're sitting on the couch?"

Alfred fought the near irresistible urge to turn on his heel and leave the room. He could feel color rising to his cheeks and valiantly fought it down, fought to remain composed because surely Bruce had no idea the way those words sounded coming out of his mouth. 

"Couch." Alfred needed to sit down. Never mind that that towel would surely ride up.... He put that thought out of his mind as he took the jar and sank onto the plush upholstery. The way that position put him eye level with Bruce's middle couldn't be ignored, however, not when he'd been towering over the boy a moment ago. Just as he was regretting his decision, Bruce sank down next to him. 

As predicted, the edge of the towel slid upward, and the edge parted to show a strip of pale inner thigh. Bruce seemed oblivious to it, oblivious too of the way the fabric seemed in danger of coming untied, _and_ the way Alfred was being thrown off. Odd thing that, as Bruce's eyes seemed sharp and observant as ever, watching Alfred unscrew the top of the salve jar and glancing up at his face every now and then. Bruce's hands found one of the edges of the towel and began to fidget, twisting a length of plush cloth in his fingers. "I don't think it's that bad."

Alfred swallowed. "Well, we'll just have to see about that. Now, straighten. Lean back." He let himself speak by rote, focusing on the situation rather than the boy in front of him. The sharp scent of the salve hit his nostrils as Alfred dipped two fingers into the jar. Bruce did as he was told, exposing his abdomen and side for Alfred's inspection. It certainly did look like he was comfortable there as the soft back of the couch gave under his thin shoulders. There was little tension in his body until Alfred, attention focused on the reddening patch several inches above the boy's hip, carefully laid his hand against it.

Bruce caught his lower lip in his teeth. His small body tightened, enough that Alfred could see it happening as well as feel it, but Bruce didn't flinch away. There wasn't much Alfred could do to make this any gentler; he was keeping his touch as light as he could manage. He tried to determine whether there was a fracture to be dealt with, and Bruce sucked in a breath. At Alfred's look of alarm, color rushed into the boy's face. "I... I'm ok. You don't need to stop."

That was a little more sobering. It only took Alfred a few more seconds before he determined Bruce would be alright without a trip to the doctor. "Nothing broken, fortunately. Only a couple bruised ribs. Congratulations Master Bruce, you'll live." Alfred gave the boy a tight smile before he began applying the ointment. His touch eased up enough to glide it across Bruce's soft skin. The boy barely had any definition to his stomach and yet the line of it was beautiful. Alfred doubted his own skin had ever felt that soft, and yet somehow Bruce was making himself fit into this fighting business with more ease than Alfred had ever managed when he was a boy. 

Bruce watched him all the while with a strange light in his eyes. The boy _was_ strange now, unavoidably, so much tragedy and unusual circumstances combining to make him someone who would always, in some way or another, be outside his peer group at the least. Bruce leaned into the touch, still tense despite the warming sensation imparted by the salve, paying far more attention to Alfred's face than the treating of his injuries. When Alfred turned to scoop another measure of ointment out of the jar, one of Bruce's hands settled atop Alfred's leg.

Alfred paused. His heart raced. He turned back to the boy as though nothing were the matter, except that he couldn't meet Bruce's eyes. His fingers worked the extra salve into Bruce's skin with his mind on autopilot. He could _feel_ Bruce's eyes trying to meet his own, but he refused to let on how...odd, this all was. Nor how much it was affecting him. Alfred tried a small smile, lifting his eyes quickly enough only to be sure Bruce saw it. "There now, does that feel any better?"

"...sort of. Not really," Bruce admitted quietly. He watched Alfred's hand leave his ribs, and his eyebrows drew together in a forlorn line. He leaned forward slightly, chasing after the lost warmth before he stopped himself, but Bruce's fingers curled around the cloth of Alfred's trouser leg. "It still aches, like everything's knotted up inside."

Alfred bit his lip. "Well. I'm afraid there's not much to be done about that. It'll take some time to heal." Bruce didn't look any more reassured. He didn't sit back. He didn't let go of Alfred's knee. Finally, after some debate, Alfred let his hand fall to Bruce's shoulder. The boy was warm after his shower. The longer he looked into Bruce's face, the more a sneaking suspicion came over Alfred. "Unless we're not only talking about your ribs...?"

After all of that peering, trying to get Alfred to meet his gaze, suddenly Bruce was the one averting his eyes. "...sort of," he repeated himself, softer and less self-assured than he'd been only a half hour earlier during their sparring lesson. "It's hard to explain. It's... it's not the nightmares again, I just-"

Bruce finally snuck a glance at Alfred, too inexperienced to really hide the worry he was feeling. "You're not my dad. I don't mean that in a bad way, but you're... not. I know you said you weren't going to try to replace my parents, because you can't, but sometimes you seem like a parent... but most of the time you don't. I don't think of you like that, and you don't really act like that."

"Well good, because I'm not." Alfred was glad Bruce didn’t flinch at his words. He said it without thinking, without filtering, but it was the truth. He wasn't going to take it back. He would be absolute rubbish as a parent. Alfred made sure to look Bruce directly in the eyes when he began again. "But that doesn't mean I'm not here to take care of you." He swallowed. "More, even, than before." Alfred wasn't sure if he added that for Bruce's sake or for his own wandering thoughts, but he squeezed the boy's shoulder all the same. 

Alfred's words didn't soothe Bruce. The boy seemed even more agitated, in fact; he leaned into the touch, slender throat bobbing as he swallowed nervously. Bruce had had cause to be nervous around Alfred before, but always because he suspected he'd be yelled at and punished in some way, never because he was actually afraid of the butler. "I don't want you to be, really. I just... miss some things, I guess." Bruce shifted closer until their thighs lined up, woven slacks against plush cotton and bare skin.

Alfred blinked, frozen stiff as his mind went in all sorts of directions he was certain Bruce wasn’t alluding to. It felt like that moment lasted forever with Bruce looking nervously up at him and Alfred caught unable to move while his thoughts spiraled back on themselves until his mind finally supplied an alternate motive for Bruce's sudden...closeness. 

"Oh." Alfred, just as uncertain as his young charge, let his hand slide to Bruce's back. Carefully he watched the boy's face for signs he'd misread Bruce's cues, but Bruce didn't show any signs of shying away. Even as Alfred pulled Bruce closer and lifted his other arm to wrap around Bruce's shoulders, he wasn't sure this was such a good idea. Especially not when Bruce was barely clothed. "That's... That's alright," he tried to console both the boy and himself. 

Bruce took the opening gratefully, shifting closer to plaster himself against Alfred's side and wrapping his arms around the older man as best he could. Twisted sideways as he was, the towel unknotted a little more, the slit lengthening to show more leg. His small body was warm, radiating head through cloth wherever they touched. "Can... I sleep with you, later? Even though I'm not getting nightmares? Dad used to, even though he said I was getting too old for it."

Alfred's mind stuttered to a halt. His heart lodged itself somewhere in his throat and he knew he really should not be having this kind of reaction right now, not in a situation like this. Bruce was hurting, and Bruce was lonely..... And Alfred would not take advantage of that. That was...too much temptation. He let his hand slide up to the back of Bruce's head, ruffling his hair just enough to express a more platonic sort of affection, all the while not thinking about how much irony went into that word, platonic. Alfred forced his voice light and steady, "No, Bruce. I don't think that would be entirely appropriate," before he pulled back and carefully rose to his feet. 

Alfred could see the hurt ripple through Bruce. Denial had hit him hard, particularly after he'd been allowed close and given a small amount of physical affection. "Why not? I don't care. We're by ourselves, there's nobody else to see and decide they don't like it and tell us what to do." 

Bruce eyed Alfred warily, calculation and want leaking into his expression again. "...you call me Master Bruce all the time. Doesn't that mean you're supposed to do what I tell you to do? If I'm the head of the household?"

Alfred let his gaze harden. "Not in this you're not." There could be no argument. He crossed his arms over his chest and did his best to put forth a stern appearance. Somehow though, he suspected Bruce saw right through it as the boy stared up at him from the sofa. The very half naked, vulnerable, lonely boy with eyes so bright and so piercing they sank into Alfred's chest right through the barrier of flesh and bone he'd made. Bruce could pout more beautifully than anyone Alfred had ever known. He did it effortlessly, became hard and soft all at once and Alfred was left to either brace himself as much as he could or melt on the spot. So he fell back on propriety. "I'm sorry Master Bruce, but you'll just have to think of something else." And with that, Alfred gave the boy a stiff nod and left the room. 

Bruce may be right. If Alfred were truly careful and if Bruce was willful enough, there was no one around to find out. It was conceivable.... But Alfred shut that thought down before he entertained it any longer. Even if it consoled the boy for a time, no good could come of it in the long run.

The rest of the day passed without incident. Bruce hadn't said anything further about the afternoon's conversation during their dinner together, nor in the time afterward - time spent in his usual manner, pouring over his amateur detective work after his schoolwork was done. Alfred had looked over the day's homework while Bruce had busied himself sorting through documents and staring at the maze of information pinned on the wall.

Bedtime preparations had gone as usual, with Bruce changing and brushing his teeth as prompted before crawling into bed and letting Alfred tuck him in. The pout returned, as did the sad arch of the boy's eyebrows, but Alfred limited himself to a fond palm against the boy's cheek before turning out the light and closing the door.

Alfred readied himself for bed not long afterwards. Single-parenting, if that's what this could be termed, took a toll beyond what his previous duties had when the Waynes were still alive. He'd settled into the dark and the warmth of his bed, drifting off until a creak of the floorboard caused him to stir.

Enough that he felt the slight movement as someone pulled the edge of the bed sheets back, and a small form slipped between the covers to settle against his side.

Alfred went still. He should be moving, he should be turning and getting up and shouting because he knew exactly who the owner of this small body was, but he couldn't move. Not until he felt a hand tentatively touch his back. Not until the little figure pressed right up close. Not until Alfred realized that figure was bare from the waist up. Then Alfred moved. He moved so fast the sheets flew with him and he was out of bed before he could even think twice about it. He flipped the light and sent Bruce awash in golden hues, staring back at him from the tangle of sheets in the middle of Alfred's bed, and Alfred couldn’t stop himself. 

He began shouting. His heart was beating a mile a minute. " _What did I tell you!_ " Alfred took a step forward. Bruce still looked too shocked to move, but Alfred didn't miss the flinch in his shoulders. That flinch gave Alfred the slightest bit of hope that he might take control of the situation. Gesturing wildly, he stood at the side of his own bed, pointing at the door. " _Out! Now!_ Back to your room. And Bruce, so help me, I don't want to see you 'til morning."

Bruce's eyes filled with tears and no small amount of fear. Wet tracks had already begun down his cheeks. He scooted backwards and out of the bed, shoulders curled inwards from the rejection. Alfred barely had a chance to catch the stammered apology before the boy ran, bolting through the door on numb and unsteady feet. A slamming door sounded a few seconds later, Bruce retreating back to his bedroom. 

Retreating from Alfred.

Alfred's back hit the dresser. Carved oak dug through his night shirt and he barely registered the pain. He felt like all the air had been knocked out of him. The house went silent again, but all he could hear was the echo of Bruce's retreating footsteps. 

One thought echoed over and over in his mind. What had just happened? Bruce's stricken face flashed behind Alfred’s eyelids. The feel of the boy pressed close beside him followed swiftly. He pressed his palms over his eyes and wished he could erase this night from the very fabric of time. Already his heart was sinking, ashamed for yelling at the boy. But the touch of Bruce's hand was so fresh in his mind. 

Alfred feared the coming day. He feared what he'd just done to Bruce, even though he'd narrowly avoided the beginning of something far worse. 

The floor was rising before Alfred realized he was sinking. Numb, he sat leaning against his dresser for a long time hoping he hadn't just destroyed the tenuous relationship he shared with the young Master. 

The night crawled by. 

Even with his tortured thoughts, Alfred eventually succumbed to sleep again. 

He rose at the usual time, prepared breakfast for himself and Bruce as he'd become accustomed. When Bruce didn't turn up at the table, Alfred transferred things to a tray and walked up to the boy's bedroom, rapping on the door with his knuckles before opening it.

The bed was empty.

It was some time later before Alfred, searching with his heart in his throat, spotted the young Wayne heir out on the grounds about the same time as Bruce spotted him. The boy was skittish as a deer, just as he'd been after his parents were killed. He'd cast wide eyes at Alfred's figure drawing closer and run off, scrambling back up the trellis on one side of the manor until he reached the rooftop where he could scoot across and reach his own bedroom window.

The butler groaned aloud before heading back inside. He knew he should be happy to see Bruce was alright. Except that Alfred wasn't so sure he was. Physically, maybe, but what had happened last night had upturned everything. Alfred couldn't help the sneaking suspicion that although he'd done what he knew was best at the time, that he had pushed Bruce away too hard and too far. And he wasn't sure he could put it to rights again. 

Leaving the tray of scrambled eggs and toast outside the boy's door and making himself scarce downstairs may have seemed like a cowardly course of action, but it at least meant Bruce wouldn't be jumping out the windows and scaling the terrace as soon as Alfred tried to confront him. 

When Alfred came back to retrieve the tray a while later, the food was untouched. Likewise with the offering of sandwiches left at lunchtime, and Bruce didn't make an appearance at dinner. The boy even neglected his school lessons.

More alarming still, Alfred didn't see him in the case room once. Everything remained as it had been, completely untouched, with no reshuffling of the files or the pieces pinned to the wall. Bruce was a determined boy. He wouldn't have missed indulging his obsession over crime solving and his slightly morbid attempts to understand and avenge his parents' deaths unless something were truly wrong.

Bruce didn't answer when Alfred knocked upon his bedroom door, or when he called.

Alfred was sorely tempted to open it. So sorely. But considering what had happened to start all this, it seemed like the epitome of hypocrisy, not to mention breach of privacy, to do so. So he forced himself to let Bruce be. For now. 

The next morning was very much the same. Bruce's door remained closed, the case files untouched, no answer as Alfred knocked. He'd woken at the crack of dawn and still he'd had no luck. Again Alfred left a tray outside the boy's door and again it went untouched until he took it away and replaced it with another at lunch. 

If things continued in this manner, Bruce would end up starving himself, much like he had when he'd lost all appetite and drive after the death of his parents. Thankfully, Alfred hadn't seen any evidence that the boy had taken to testing himself in harmful ways again, but he'd isolated himself from Alfred. Given that he was Bruce's main social grounding point, it was only a matter of time before things became more concerning than a few missed meals. With Selina Kyle gone and Bruce avoiding his company, the boy was left to the ravages of his own mind.

It wasn't until late that night that Alfred finally reached the end of his tether. He had originally thought the boy would come around, tentatively step back into Alfred's presence of his own accord, but now he wasn't so sure. If Alfred learned anything about Bruce since his parents had died, it was that his will was a match for the Butler"'s and then some. 

Something had to be done. 

After the sun set and dinner grew cold on the dining table, Alfred made his move. He set to work in the den, preparing it for Bruce's arrival. It didn't take long, but Alfred considered every detail of the space. He did not know whether he'd harmed their relationship beyond repair. Alfred may have had his reasons, but those reasons were unknown to Bruce. And Bruce was a quietly sensitive boy who'd been through far too much already. Too much for Alfred to let him take one more blow to heart. 

One by one Alfred turned out the lights in the house until only the soft illumination of the hall lamps remained, bright enough to encourage comforting feelings and not foreboding. Alfred hoped. 

By the time he rapped at Bruce's door, most of what he'd rehearsed saying already seemed like trite platitudes.

Alfred could hear movement inside. The door didn't open, but in the relative quiet of the house, Bruce's movements could be easily heard through the creak of furnature and floorboards. Hesitant movements, the sort Alfred remembered from when he caught Bruce burning himself and trying to hide it. 

Finally, the boy must have shored up his courage. 

The voice that came through the wooden panel wasn't timorous. It was a child's idea of an authoritative voice, Bruce trying to take control of the situation again. "...yes? Was there something you wanted?"

Alfred debated luring the boy out with more offers of dinner, but quickly discarded the ruse. "We need to talk," he said instead, brusquely. Perhaps a little too brusquely; he could be so harsh when he was uncertain. Alfred tried to soften his voice. "Just down to the den. Only for a chat. It'll do you good to get out of that room besides." A length of silence passed between him and the austere mahogany door. Alfred's fists clenched and unclenched. He could feel nerves threatening to take his voice again. Worries that he Bruce might never look at him the same flitted through his mind. "Please, Master Bruce."

Soft footsteps padded over to the door. The brass handle turned, and through the widening crack, Alfred caught a glimpse of touseled brown hair and willful blue eyes. The hint of a pout wasn't quite gone from Bruce's mouth, or the air of wariness about him. "Talk about what? You already told me I don't get to have a say. And that you didn't want to see me, so now you don't have to."

Child's logic, to take heated words and temporary situations and extend them outwards, but Bruce still was a child. Alfred had hurt him, and he'd reciprocated in the only way he'd known how to do so.

Alfred's mouth thinned into a frown. "I said until morning, and I didn't mean...that we shouldn't talk about it." His gaze almost dropped to the side where Bruce's slim fingers rested against the carved door frame, but Alfred kept his eyes on the boy's face. 

There was so much betrayal there. Bruce looked like he'd been jilted and Alfred had to admit that wouldn't be an inaccurate assessment. Now he was regarded by the boy with scorn and distrust for that rejection, but Alfred hoped...he hoped that anger only went so deep as their misunderstanding. His instincts told him so, but the paranoia ingrained in him feared worse. "You can say whatever you'd like to. I'd like to make things right between us."

Bruce blinked. The hardness in his gaze didn't quite disappear, but want was starting to override it. Bruce _wanted_ to be heard, wanted things to be alright between himself and the older man. After bowing to the viscissitudes of fate, it was more than understandable that the boy worried, both about losing people he cared about, and about losing control. 

After a few moments more of deliberation, Bruce opened the door more fully and slipped out into the hallway. He started down the hallway, glancing back to ensure Alfred was following. 

With a small sigh of relief, Alfred fell into step behind the boy. He couldn't help notice just how short Bruce was. His head barely reached Alfred's chest. Bruce had been growing, he was taller than he ever in fact, but after all this the past day, things like that weighed more heavily on Alfred's thoughts. 

Bruce led them down to the den and through the softly illuminated house in silence. Alfred let the boy push the door back, but under its frame they could already see a warm orange glow and hear the crackle of the fireplace. Bruce was brought up short when he saw it. They almost never lit the fire these days, but Alfred had built it high and the room was beginning to warm already. 

"Come," Alfred gestured and moved around the boy, heading for the couch where there was a thick blanket and two steaming mugs of cocoa waiting for them. 

Bruce took the seat closer to the fire, distracted for the moment by the sights and sounds. A faint and comfortingly homey scent of woodsmoke was just discernable in the air, and the orange glow changed the room into a world of warm pools of light flanked by shadows. Bruce didn't flinch back from the touch on his shoulder when Alfred draped part of the blanket around him, and he accepted the offering of cocoa easily.

Underneath the crackling from the fireplace, Alfred heard the boy's stomach rumble. 

Bruce clutched at his mug nervously, set more at ease by the atmosphere of the room, but obviously dreading what might come of this discussion. He stared down into the mug's contents until he took a deep breath and started talking. "I don't understand why you're so angry with me. Or were, maybe."

Alfred shifted closer, remembering to keep their contact as chaste yet comforting as possible. "Don't you?" he asked, keeping his voice measured and soft. "Bruce, if there's one thing I've come to know about you in my time here, it's that you're an intelligent boy. In your little investigation you've come to me asking about shell companies, off shore business accounts, the whole lot of it. Now, if you can see through the nuances in business practices in this city, can you not take a step back, look at what you've asked of me, and tell me why I might have said no? Why I might have even overreacted a bit?"

A hint of color crept across Bruce's cheeks, and the boy suddenly averted his eyes. That in itself was enough of a confession. 

"I... guess, but... I don't really know why. I mean, I understand why, with some people, but-" Bruce's flush deepened in the typical embarrassment of youth, still struggling with particular concepts and desires and mortified by the idea of openly giving them voice. "I, um. Selina did end up kissing me, you know. I guess it was nice, but... I didn't really like it as much as she thought I would. And I started thinking about things, and maybe I don't like girls. I mean, in that way, _like_ like them."

Alfred could feel his brows climbing. He didn't mean to let his surprise show. It was just...this was not where he'd expected the conversation to go. Not right now. 

"Well that's...." Alfred floundered for a moment, "That's nothing you need to figure out right now. You might like another girl better someday. But Bruce," Alfred became more serious, "what I mean is that, all feelings aside, you sleeping in my room would be far beyond inappropriate. And should anyone ever find out.... Well." Alfred grimaced, but he wrapped his arm around the boy's shoulders just to show Bruce that he wasn't the cause of it. "I'm not angry with you. There are simply some boundaries I can't cross."

Those words, too, had an unexpected effect. Rather than spark understanding, Bruce seemed to wilt, distress written plainly across his features before he hid them away, just as he'd started learning to mask so many other emotions. Smaller, slender arms wrapped around Alfred in turn, and when he spoke again, his voice was so quiet that Alfred almost had trouble discerning the words. "Is... that why? Because you're worried about appropriateness, and people finding out? Or do you just not like me? Because we do a lot of inappropriate stuff anyways, and you never minded that."

Alfred was glad Bruce couldn't see his face. Color had risen there so quickly he could nearly feel every blood vessel. He did wonder though if the boy could feel the way his heart stuttered in his chest. He almost wouldn't put it past Bruce, especially when he himself could easily feel every breath the boy took. 

"Oh Bruce." It came out in a sigh, not much louder than the boy's voice had been. Alfred reached for composure. "I don't think you'll ever know just how much I like you." A harsh bit of truth, that. "It's not that. This is a bit more serious than getting revenge on a bully, or taking up boxing." Even if Alfred did have to admit that those activities could call into question his effectiveness as Bruce's guardian. 

"Why? I mean, that's more understandable to get upset over." Bruce was louder now, but wavering, his throat closing up with emotion. "I could hurt someone else, with that. With this, there's no one else to get hurt, it's just us. It shouldn't matter to anyone else. And it wouldn't matter if we have to keep it a secret, because we're already doing that with other things."

"Bruce," Alfred pulled back, disentangling himself from the boy's embrace. Bruce looked so forlorn, dark brows creased in his manner that was surely going to send subordinates running by the time he grew up and into his role in Wayne Enterprises, whatever he decided that would be. His mouth offset the whole image though. The steely look of his eyes with that pout.... The beauty of it sent another pang of guilt and longing straight to Alfred's core. When he spoke again, his voice held a tinge roughened with truth. "I don't think you understand. I...I care for you very much," he found himself taking a moment to breathe, "Perhaps...too much. To be doing anything like this. I.... I never want you to look back on this some time down the road and decide you feel differently. Or suspect I had another motive for...for...." He was losing coherency trying to explain without actually explaining. 

Bruce's frown deepened. He searched Alfred's face with a mix of innocent sorrow and calculation.

All at once, the boy moved, unexpected and faster than Alfred had time to react. The older man's arms slid down past his shoulders as Bruce scooted up and turned - just enough to catch Alfred's mouth in a soft, inexperienced kiss. Bruce's hands were clenched around Alfred's waistcoat, as if terrified that he might be pushed away only for his guardian to vanish. Or, perhaps, to put himself out of the boy's grasp from then on.

The tension in his grip was all for naught. Alfred couldn't move. He was stunned speechless. 

This wasn't the innocently fumbling advance a younger child might make, unknowing of the greater ramifications of kisses and physical intimacy. There was a spark in Bruce's eye, the same spark Alfred had glimpsed again and again, that hinted of greater knowledge. And yet...and yet Alfred couldn't be sure. 

With his heart beating wildly, Alfred moved his hands to Bruce's shoulders, but the boy wouldn't let go. Not until several seconds had passed with Alfred's gentle pulling, not forcible, he knew he couldn't reject Bruce like this and hope for the boy not to take it terribly. But finally they separated and Alfred could breathe again. His face had gone flush. So had Bruce's. The boy was staring up at him with wide eyes, impossibly vulnerable, and yet...there was that sense of knowing, that sense he could see right through Alfred. 

Alfred took another breath. "You..." The word became a question as he searched Bruce's face, such a beautiful face, one he had longed to touch since the first day he had begun working for the Waynes. "You don't have to do that. I'll be here for you regardless. I promise you that."

A flicker of hurt crossed Bruce's face. "It's not a bribe. I'm not... I wasn't worried about you leaving me before. I'm worried about you leaving now. Now that you know," he added, his mouth twisting awkwardly in an attempt to avoid saying what both of them suspected, now: his tangent about Selina hadn't been a tangent. 

Her kiss, and her company, had prompted greater levels of self-introspection, culminating in some revelations that had left Bruce frustrated and afraid... but not confused. Whatever else was going on in his mind, confusion wasn't present. Resolve was.

"Bruce, you.... Surely you don't mean you prefer my company over Selina's." Alfred tried to smile, but Bruce's stare remained as serious as ever, and that was when it really began to sink in. 

Alfred knew how terribly shocked he must have looked; the boy was unabashedly reading every detail of his expression, wary of rejection. 

Slowly, the shock began to drift away, replaced instead by a damnable well of hope, one Alfred tried valiantly to tamp down. "How...how long have you...felt this way?"

"A while. It's hard to remember, because I didn't feel like this at first, when we weren't really getting along, and then it changed... but it took me a while to figure out what it meant. Why I... liked you differently. It was more confusing because I hadn't really thought about... stuff like this, before," Bruce admitted. "And there were so many other things going on, and I didn't know how you felt about things, and... you act like a parent sometimes, but you're not. Most of the time."

Bruce's brows furrowed again, concerned that Alfred's relative silence foreshadowed rejection. "I don't know. I was thinking about it off and on, but I really started thinking about it after... y'know. The kiss, and how it made me feel, and what everything meant. Why I didn't think about girls that way. Who does make me feel that way. Stuff like that."

Alfred felt like he'd been struck dumb. He couldn't move under the weight of this revelation, much less because of the way Bruce was half sprawled into his lap. He searched for any rationalization he could find - Bruce was becoming attached to the first person there for him after the loss of his parents, that fear of abandonment and loss of familial affection were getting tangled up in budding puberty - and each of them seemed perfectly plausible. Anything but that Bruce might actually have come to this decision uninfluenced. 

Alfred schooled himself. He was ready to tell Bruce this, except that the boy was looking at him again with that certainty, that authority someone so young should not possess. Bruce looked like he was ready, if wary, to take rejection all the while sticking to his admission as truth. 

If that were the case, Alfred owed him that much truth in return. 

"Bruce." Alfred let his palm touch the boy's cheek, his hair, fearing he might never have this chance again. "I feel...very similarly. I've wanted you for a very long time. More than I should say. Which is why I shouldn't allow this."

"But _why?_ " Bruce's outburst came out more plaintative than he'd expected. He'd leaned into the touch, watching his guardian with more than an edge of sadness and rebellion. He was anticipating rejection, and worse to come afterwards: the uprooting of their whole relationship to something distant and cold and utterly untouchable. "Why not, if we both agree? I know you. You're not going to treat me differently in other things because of this, and I'm not-... I'm not interested because I'm _afraid_ of you, or what you might decide to do. I just didn't want my feelings to ruin things."

"Do you have any idea what this _means_?" Alfred bit out. "You are a _child_ , Bruce. To fantasize is one thing, but I can't…." It pained him to say it. And besides, it was a bit too late for 'I can't do anything that might hurt you'. Not when Alfred had directly enabled so much else. It was funny though, how rational Bruce could make this sound. He could work his logic around almost anything. Alfred's fingers curled in dark locks of hair. The boy was staring at him so defiantly. He'd read Alfred right, and he knew it. 

"No, I don't know, because I haven't tried it before." Bruce's cheeks were burning, but he didn't look away. If anything, his mouth set into an even more stubborn line. "I researched a bit, on the internet, but that's different than knowing. I might be too small for some things right now, but I'm not a _kid_. I'm not a child anymore. Maybe I still look like one to you, but it's too late for that after everything else."

Now Alfred's cheeks were heating, too. It didn't help that the boy scooted just a little closer, just a little more onto his lap. He wasn't sure if Bruce realized where that would put him or not, but either way it was going to become a problem if he moved any farther. Alfred hated the little voice in the back of his head that told him Bruce was right. Bruce was no normal child anymore. He hated it because Alfred had never wanted him to be a normal child. The only world in which this could conceivably happen was a world in which Bruce Wayne was not ok, and Alfred hated himself for that. 

He could feel his resolve giving the more he stared into Bruce's equally hard and soft features, but he had to try one last time. Alfred swallowed. "How can you be sure you want this?"

"It feels the same. If I'm not sure about this, then I'm not sure about anything else either." Bruce was still holding firm, but a hint of his vulnerability had resurfaced. If Alfred were about to push him away, he didn't have a good idea of what would happen, and what he would do in turn. One small hand resettled over Alfred's chest, feeling the older man's racing heartbeat underneath his palm. "...It kinda seems like a lot of things, where you don't know until you try."

Bruce's touch fairly burned. Alfred took a deep breath, and damn him for this…. 

"Alright." 

Bruce's eyes widened by a fraction, but Alfred still saw the reason. 

"Alright," Alfred reiterated more firmly. His thumb brushed against the boy's temple. "But just to try." Alfred held Bruce there with that touch, just in case the boy got any sudden ideas. "I need you to promise me if you _ever_ want to stop, you'll let me know. And I won't be upset, or disappointed, and I won't leave you unless you want me to. Are we clear?"

"Y-yes, sir." Bruce was floored enough by Alfred's assent that he slipped back into old patterns of speech, back before his butler had become his guardian and they'd reached an understanding. The boy's pupils widened as Alfred held him in place. When Alfred didn't let go, Bruce realized he was looking for something more explicit and took another breath. "... I promise, I'll let you know."

The boy paused for a moment, then added, "...or if something's too much. I might not want _everything_ to stop, just one thing."

Alfred felt goosebumps rise along the back of his neck. This was real. Bruce was real. The words coming out of his mouth were real. "Alright, then." Alfred softened somewhat. He couldn't believe he was about to do this. "C'mere." He dipped his fingers behind Bruce's neck and felt heat pool in his gut as the boy's head lifted, guided forward by the touch. His small hand pressed more firmly against Alfred's chest for support as Alfred drew him in, steadying Bruce with his other hand, small body so warm under the touch, but Alfred paused for a moment before they connected. Doubt fought valiantly to be heard amidst all the longing in his head. 

The pulse in Bruce's neck was rapid underneath Alfred's fingertips - a small wild bird caught in a snare, tiny wings beating furiously, straining for what it wanted, against what it was afraid of. Bruce finally turned enough that he straddled Alfred's lap.

Alfred saw the moment Bruce processed the firm heat underneath him and what it meant. The boy's eyes widened, but he didn't lose his nerve. Alfred was dangerous and had the potential to hurt him, but that had always been true, and the older man had never shown the inclination to do so. Bruce didn't look like he was frightened of the former Marine, simply nervous about a situation he'd never experienced before.

That was all the confirmation Alfred needed. He drew the boy down to meet his mouth, just the way he'd wished to do for ages, and found that Bruce's lips were every bit as soft as they looked. This time Alfred was leading, guiding the slide of his mouth against Bruce's, nudging the boy to follow the languorous rhythm of it. Fleeting thoughts of self-consciousness passed Alfred's mind because there was no way his own lips could ever be that soft, nor his own presence feel so sweet, but Alfred let them go because it would not do to spoil this moment. 

Too much too soon, Alfred knew, but he couldn't help the way his tongue found the boy's lower lip nor the way he pulled Bruce's narrow hips to meet his own. The sensation it caused was near euphoric.

Bruce was hesitant, but not from a lack of want. His arms had wrapped around Alfred's neck, but he was cautiously testing the waters with the same methodological, careful focus he had applied to his exploration of his fears. Bruce started when tongue touched his lips, caught off-guard and uncertain of how he was supposed to respond. He pulled back just enough to give Alfred a quizzical look.

Alfred knew his expression warmed. His very insides warmed. To see that curious trust in Bruce, something he was growing more accustomed to since their training and more adult-like discussions, never failed to light a spark in his chest. He could lead Bruce in this and Alfred very quickly felt up to the task. Gently, he slid his roughened hands up the sides of Bruce's neck to cup his face and leaned in again. Alfred took it slower this time, starting with just the catch of lips first, feeling Bruce give to the touch and lean down against him. He could even feel the thrum of the boy's heart. 

Bruce was letting Alfred do whatever he wanted, and that sent such a sweet thrill through him. When Alfred brushed his tongue against the boy's mouth again, it parted just so. He drew Bruce's bottom lip between his teeth teasingly, showing Bruce that he could play, that he didn't have to be serious. 

Bruce's eyebrows drew together while he processed everything, the experience much different than what his imagination had spun from the limited research he'd done online... never quite daring to click into the more explicit websites that may or may not have given him a more accurate picture of what was possible. A thrill raced up the boy's spine at the slight feel of teeth, drawing to mind the way he'd seen Alfred fight before, and Bruce shifted on Alfred's lap and pressed closer. After another moment, Bruce had gathered his nerves and mimicked what the older man had done, shyly letting his tongue dart out to touch Alfred's in return.

Alfred opened for him immediately. He might have even let out a sound of exhilaration. But he let Bruce explore and met the boy's advances when it seemed like he became unsure of himself again. 

Slowly, Alfred coaxed more and more out of him. 

What Bruce was doing with his hips wasn't helping though. The boy was focused on the kiss, but all his weight in Alfred's lap was going to drive him insane. By the time they'd kissed for several minutes, Alfred couldn't take it anymore. Breathing too hard already, he stopped Bruce before the boy could lean into him again. Alfred refused to give too much space between them though. It was against the boy's lips that he whispered, pointedly, "I'm going to need you to move in a minute."

Bruce looked back at Alfred in a slight daze, then blinked. Realization dawned and Bruce couldn't keep himself from glancing downward at the firm heat underneath him. His blush deepened again as he tried to puzzle out what Alfred meant. "...move how? Off? Or... something else? I-" The boy worried at his lower lip, suddenly uncertain. "I don't think I can do very much. I know a bit about... stuff. Not much. But I'm pretty sure I'm not big enough for it yet. What people normally do, I mean."

"You are going to be the death of me," Alfred whispered softly, more to himself than Bruce. His hands landed at Bruce's waist, but he had to fight for restraint. "First lesson. You'd be surprised what the body can accommodate." And Alfred let himself imagine it, Bruce laid out under him, naked, turned over and cheeks spread, looking over his shoulder as Alfred pushed slowly in…. He cut himself off before that fantasy could unravel his already frayed nerves. "Second. That doesn't matter. You do what you're comfortable with, remember?" Alfred thought for a moment and came to a conclusion. "In this, Bruce, I'm going to let you be in charge."

"Alright, but I don't really know what I'm in charge _of_. I've heard that people do a lot of things, but I didn't actually look at very much, so I saw a lot of the same things. I'm not really comfortable with seeing if I can... accommodate." Bruce swallowed, suddenly extra aware of the relative size differences between them and of Alfred's hands on his hips. "But I don't know what's left, besides kissing and touching each other."

Alfred knew he was flushing. He wasn't sure if this was torture or yet another turn on. "Well. Fortunately, I do have a few alternatives to propose. And we can start by kissing and touching." He caught Bruce's eye to lessen the boy's uncertainty. "But first, I'm going to need you to move off my lap.

Alfred helped Bruce to the side, settling him between the oversized blankets. Moving this to the bedroom crossed Alfred's mind briefly, but he didn't want to put even more pressure and unfamiliarity on the young Wayne heir. Besides, with a little maneuvering, this couch was big enough for the both of them. 

Once Bruce was looking up at him, Alfred leaned down for another kiss, but this time he let his hand wander along Bruce's side feeling how tense the boy was. His stomach fluttered with under that touch, and Alfred could only sooth him by moving slower. Gently, he bent to whisper in Bruce's ear. "May I touch you?"

"Yes..." Bruce's reply was soft and almost drowned out by the crackle of the fireplace. His gaze fixed on Alfred's face, watching the play of angles and shadow generated by the flickering light. Alfred's pale eyes looked all the sharper. "Yes, you can touch me. Just... go slow, ok? So I can tell you I want to stop if it gets to be too much?"

And that was an idea in itself, because Bruce was confident that the older man would keep to his word and stop the moment he was told. 

Bruce was nervous, but Alfred was no longer really hiding his reactions, and watching the effect Bruce was having, knowing he was in control... imparted a feeling of power. Bruce had control over so little in his life. Having even a measure of control over the man who'd fought and shot people for him, to protect him...that was a heady effect.

Alfred nodded in understanding, very much liking the appreciation dawning across Bruce's features. If Alfred could kindle that tentative affection, that certainty that Bruce could in fact have just as much control in this, then maybe the boy could be alright. 

Alfred didn't want to hurt him, even though he put Bruce in harm's way again and again. The boy may have started it, but Alfred enabled it. Eventually he even began to encourage it. He needed Bruce to find his way. He needed Bruce to be strong for the boy's own sake. And now when Bruce had come to Alfred like this…he needed Bruce to be strong, emotionally. 

Slowly, Alfred moved from the couch down to the floor. He kept his hands on Bruce though, never letting the boy worry he would go far. He kept his kisses at the boy's mouth soft, and let his hand trail down Bruce's woolen sweater, massaging on its way down. He tugged up the fabric and pressed a kiss to Bruce's bare hip while his hand roamed upward again, massaging back up, this time skin on skin.

Bruce watched in rapt fascination. His eyelids fluttered every now and then at a particularly sweet touch. It wasn't quite erotic yet, but it was warming to be the center of attention. More so the center of _Alfred's_ attention. To Bruce's mind, his guardian could have had anyone - the boy's mental image of Alfred had evolved from his original viewpoint, turning him into a caring and devoted, rather domestic version of a daredevil secret agent. One who was normally in control, but now had been brought to his knees.

Bruce's spine arched slightly, trapped between two hands, and he nearly gasped at the feel of Alfred's mouth on his hip. The sensation pulled such a feeling of longing out of the boy that, despite his lack of experience and knowledge, brought to mind at least _one_ possibility of where this might go.

Alfred knew when Bruce got it. He could feel the change in the boy's body, the way he subtly squirmed his hips just thinking about it. 

Alfred smiled into the curve of Bruce's flesh. His hand drew down again, leaving Bruce 's chest and moving onto a new target. It moved past his navel, brushing against the hem of his trousers, Alfred veered off course at the last second, feeling Bruce's hips lift in anticipation even as the sensation was denied him and Alfred's fingers drew down the inseam of his trousers instead. Alfred's hand lingered there and rubbed back up, again avoiding the front of Bruce's pants, just massaging up to his hip and then back down again with obvious suggestion. He gave Bruce plenty of time to show any discomfort, and when none still came, finally Alfred let his hand palm over Bruce's crotch. 

Given the expression that contact summoned, protests were not in danger of arising. Bruce's pupils were so dilated that only thin rings of blue remained. Curiosity and want were overriding nervousness, for the moment at least. Alfred's hand stroked, hardly anything more than a gentle brush of his palm, and Bruce squirmed in response. 

"...you've... actually done this before, right? With... you know, another boy, not with a girl?"

Alfred almost laughed. He felt a smile spread across his face, but he felt too much fondness for Bruce to let him believe Alfred might be laughing at him. "Yes, I have done this before. And I don't mean with women." He neglected to fall into the trap of using Bruce's word 'boy', as opposed to men, altogether. Alfred drew his palm down, then up, increasing the pressure slightly. Starting a slow rhythm. Keeping Bruce enticed. "Are you nervous?"

"A little," Bruce replied, and tucked his chin at the admission. Fantasies were one thing, as were knowing that certain things were possible, but to confront them being played out in reality was different altogether. Part of Bruce hadn't really thought Alfred would agree, despite all the boy's hopes that he would, and being touched was worlds apart from touching himself. "I don't want you to stop, I just don't know what it will be like."

Alfred's smile reached his eyes. He was beyond all hope now. 

"Well. There is only one way to find out." Gently, Alfred thumbed at the button of Bruce's fly, deftly undoing it and the zip along with it, watching it lower as he knew the boy was watching as well. Alfred drew Bruce's trousers down to his knees, wondering if he would feel more or less vulnerable with them caught there, or with them all the way off. He decided to leave it at that for now. Less fuss. Less chance of Bruce feeling too exposed. Alfred's hands found their way back to the boy's shorts and he almost couldn't help himself. He leaned in, letting his breath ghost over the fabric, taking in the very, very subtle musk of Bruce's body, knowing he would smell different when he was older and loving him all the more like this. 

Bruce nearly jumped out of his skin when it happened. He was already tense in anticipation, and just that had been enough to make him break out in gooseflesh. Bruce was suddenly all the more grateful for the fire blazing in the hearth nearby; without it, he would be feeling much cooler than he already was.

It wasn't that Bruce didn't trust Alfred. He did, all the more so after the look the older man had just given him. Alfred had loved and protected him before this, without asking for this, and Bruce didn't think being together like this was going to change that. What remained was a possibility that Alfred could hurt him unwittingly, as sometimes happened during their fighting lessons. "Just... be careful, ok?"

"Oh yes," Alfred whispered before he lowered the last bit of material in between them. He could see Bruce biting his lip out of the corner of his eye, and at any other time that would have been more tantalizing than he could have imagined, but Alfred couldn't take his attention away from the flesh slowly being revealed before him. 

The elastic band caught at Bruce's erection before it came free, joining Bruce's trousers as Alfred pushed them out of the way. He had to take a moment just to look at the boy. Bruce's small cock stood erect before him, hairless and flushed pink. Bruce’s fists clenched at the fabric of his sleeves. When Alfred exhaled slowly, he could feel the way his warm breath sent a shiver down the boy’s spine and he knew he was staring in awe. 

"You are…the most beautiful boy I have ever met in my entire life." Alfred meant that. He'd known so before, and he knew so now. Bruce was more than beautiful, but that was all he could think to say. With that, he leaned down and, very slowly, licked the small head of the boy’s cock. 

Bruce's lips parted in shock, completely thrown by even that small tease. Wetness and warmth was very different than fingers, even when eased by a bit of lotion snuck out of the bathroom and into his bedroom. Alfred was still going, slow and gentle, still listening should Bruce change his mind.

Bruce couldn't think. All he could do was watch and feel, his hands clenching even tighter into the fabric of Alfred's shirt. This was like one of his recent dreams come to life, only better - because it was real, and because this Alfred wasn't limited by Bruce's nonexistent experience and lack of knowledge. 

Alfred's fingers dug into Bruce's hips. He did it gently, but he had to hold the boy, not because he was squirming too much - Bruce was amazingly good at holding still so far - but because Alfred needed to feel him there within his grasp. For the first time, _truly_ within his grasp. His mouth closed around the boy's cock, effortlessly taking all of it, small as it was, and sucked gently. He could feel it harden even further on his tongue, and that sensation, the knowledge that Bruce was feeling desire for him, drew a pang of want so deep inside of him he felt his own cock twitch in response.

It was a good thing Alfred had caught hold of him, because Bruce now began wriggling in earnest. Not away, and not with any conscious goal in mind - his eyes were fixed on Alfred, a helpless whimper leaving his own mouth as he tried to process and adjust to what felt, to him, completely overwhelming. Bruce didn't know whether he wanted to be closer, or to have a bit of space. He felt like it was all too much, something he might drown in or that would become so sensitive that it would turn to pain, but he never reached that point.

Alfred hummed as he worked, sucking gently, trying to draw it out for Bruce. Too much too fast would overwhelm the boy. And Alfred wanted to _enjoy_ this. For as long as he could. His thumbs dipped in the hollow of Bruce's hips and slowly, he massaged while he worked, making sure the boy had other sensations to latch onto. 

It was…completely surreal. To be crouched in the den of Wayne manor, fire burning bright beside them, with Bruce's legs splayed open before him, giving the boy such pleasure that his soft cries filled the space of the room all the way up to the ceiling, not a chance of being interrupted. Being welcomed instead. 

This was the kind of fantasy Alfred only allowed himself in the latest hours of the night and when he knew he'd be alone for some time. When he knew it wouldn't distract him from duty. When it wouldn't become too painful and ruin his temperament because it could never, ever happen.

Small hands touched Alfred's, then yanked back. The older man glanced up to see Bruce's arms reach upwards, latching onto a throw pillow instead. Time stretched out as their gazes locked. Bruce didn't even have the presense of mind to utter a reassurance or tell Alfred to keep going. He watched mutely, small chest rising and falling, still hard between Alfred's lips. When the older man's pause went on for too long, Bruce braced himself with his feet and tried to rock his hips upward. He got precisely nowhere with Alfred's hands still pinning him in place.

It prompted a smile from the older man, one that reached his eyes because his mouth was otherwise occupied. He gave Bruce's erection a twirl of his tongue before pulling away just enough to whisper into the boy's skin, "You can touch me, too, if you like. I don't mind," and then went back to laving his tongue where it had been before. Deliberately, he dropped his eyes. As pleasurable as this experience was, he could tell Bruce was still nervous, still unsure what he should be doing.

It took time before Bruce's hands stopped putting dents in the pillow. Eventually Alfred felt a hesitant touch atop his hands again. When Alfred allowed it, Bruce lingered there, taking a moment to work up his courage. Slowly, the boy let go.

A moment later, Bruce's fingers were in the older man's hair, petting, then holding on. Alfred still didn't glance up, but he heard the boy's breathing change - just a slight catch before it deepened. Bruce was inexperienced enough that he likely didn't realize his grip wasn't entirely painless.

Alfred didn't care one bit. He _liked_ it. He moaned aloud and felt the boy's hands clench even harder, fingers just small enough to latch onto Alfred's short hair properly. It was _perfect_. Everything about this boy was perfect, and Alfred didn't know if he was going to last very long just from this alone. He sucked harder in reward, affirmation that Bruce wasn't going to hurt him, that Bruce wasn't inconveniencing him in any way, that he _wanted_ Bruce in his space.

Too much, too soon. Bruce didn't have the endurance to last, between hearing and feeling Alfred moan and the sudden increase in intensity. The boy cried out, his cock hardening just a touch further on Alfred's tongue, shaking in a dry climax. And nearly cried out again as Alfred kept going. Bruce tugged on the older man's hair, just managing a breathy command. "S...stop, stop, I can't..."

Alfred didn't listen. He heard Bruce, but even knowing Bruce had never had quite this much stimulation before wasn't enough to set him off the idea of what else he could do to the boy. Bruce was worked up enough for it, he could feel it in the tension of the limbs beneath him and the straining of the small erection in his mouth. Alfred quickened the pace, ignoring the way his own arousal heightened to a near painful degree. 

Having his orders disregarded and the overwhelming sensations continue and speed up was enough to shock Bruce through his haze of pleasure and endorphins. He began to squirm in earnest, this time to attempt to get away. His hands pulled in an effort to dislodge the older man. The illusion that he was in control had been shattered. "Stop!"

Alfred let go. _Too much._ It rang in the back of his mind like the toll of a bell. "Sorry, sorry," he whispered, trying to soothe. Bruce wasn't going to come again, and Alfred's stomach lurched at the thought the boy might be less comfortable than he'd thought. He wanted to lay his head on Bruce's thigh and not seem so big, so threatening, but Alfred knew that such an affectionate action from him would look so out of place it would probably jar Bruce’s thoughts even more. Instead he reached up to stroke Bruce's hair where it had fallen over his brow. "Are you alright?"

Bruce's worried look took a moment to start to dissipate. He was nervous again, this time not from venturing into the unknown and forbidden, but from promises broken. Bruce searched Alfred's face. After several seconds, the boy finally nodded, very aware of their current positions and his state of partial undress. "...y-yeah, I guess I'm ok now. I just- I couldn't, and you didn't stop, like you didn't hear me."

Alfred felt his stomach drop. Bruce had no idea what he was doing. _No idea._

He'd told Alfred as much, and it hadn't sunk in. Alfred had imagined it in the way some boys who had never done anything like this before still very much desired to, desired so much that new experiences would be pleasurable and confident enough in their relationship for trust to override lingering trepidations. And Bruce was nowhere close to that. 

"Oh, Bruce." Alfred tugged the boy's pants up. He could barely believe what he'd done. His world was tilting with the weight of it. His stomach was hollowing out inch by inch. He pulled himself up to sit beside the boy, never breaking contact, finding it impossible to break contact. His hands stroked Bruce's hair. He couldn't hurt this boy anymore, and the certainty that that was what he'd just done came down upon his shoulders, suffocating. "Bruce, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that."

Bruce was breathing easier now, drifting back onto safer and more familiar ground. He sat up and moved closer, tucking himself under Alfred's arm. Relief seeped into his bones; Alfred was sorry. He wouldn't make the same mistake again, and Bruce hadn't been rejected for his objections and pointing out what was wrong. "It's ok, I'll be ok now. And the rest of it was good. Amazing, actually. Things just felt different... afterwards." Bruce still couldn't bring himself to voice specific terms. "Overwhelming, I guess."

The hollowness eating away Alfred's insides nearly crawled up his throat. He couldn't believe he'd let himself do this. He held the boy gently, but firmly, not wanting to let go, knowing the moment he let go he would have to do everything he could to undo this. A thing which could never be undone. 

Alfred tried to smile reassuringly. He had no idea how he was going to manage. Bruce seemed comforted by his touch, seemed to want to be in his proximity, and that stung even more. The boy wanted to make sure Alfred wasn't leaving. "Maybe we should take a rest, yeah? Cocoa's still hot." He pulled the blanket around Bruce's shoulders and tucked the boy into his side again, hating himself all the while.

Bruce shot Alfred a quizzical look. The butler wasn't acting quite like his normal self... but Bruce supposed that he wasn't, either. Alfred could be right, that a short break would have them both feeling better after this misstep. "Alright." 

Bruce accepted the mug that Alfred pressed into his hands again. It _was_ still hot, which meant that Bruce hadn't lasted very long at all. Color rushed back into the boy's cheeks in self-consciousness. He was reminded of how quickly he'd gone down when he and Alfred had first started their fighting lessons. A bolstering thought, that - this might be the same, where practice would improve things.

They sat in silence, Alfred's thoughts turning and pitching every which way, but aware more than anything that he had to tread carefully. For Bruce's sake, he had to deescalate the situation, but he couldn't make the boy feel like he was being rejected. Alfred couldn't just leave, he couldn't stop here and hope Bruce would be ok, not after what he'd done. 

So he held the boy, hoping his regret and his affection would translate into the touch and knowing that would never be enough. Everything he could think to do seemed either ridiculous, inconsequential, or cowardly. This wouldn't be fixed in a day. Not with ice cream or a trip sightseeing downtown, not if Alfred promised to never leave Bruce's side again so the boy would never have to feel like…like he needed to work for the man's devotion. 

When enough time had passed that he felt Bruce's body finally relaxing, Alfred spoke up. "Do you think you'll be alright tonight?" He was ready to keep Bruce company on the couch all night if he said no.

Bruce glanced up. He'd just finished emptying his mug of the last of the cocoa. "What do you mean? The old nightmares? I still get them. I'm kinda used to it now, though."

The boy straightened up under the blanket, shoulders squared. He didn't want to be thought weak from the admission. Bruce didn't know if the nightmares were ever going to go away, just like his grief for his parents, or the anger that pooled and roiled in the hollow spot inside him where something had been broken and forcibly ripped away. "I'd like company, but I'll be alright if you don't want to."

"I think it's best if we keep to our own rooms," Alfred began lightly, carefully, "but if you need the company, for any reason, I don't mind camping out here." He offered the boy a small smile when Bruce glanced up inquisitively. Alfred knew Bruce could read something different about him, but this was a highly unusual situation and obviously it was difficult for the boy to tell what, precisely, was the difference.

Bruce didn't look happy about the suggestion, but he was resigned to it. For the moment, at least. "Alright." Still, Bruce didn't look away. If anything, the boy began to observe Alfred even more closely. Like all children, he had a keen sense of when someone wasn't acting quite right. He'd seen Alfred when he was actually cheerful and warm. The butler was putting on a facade, but Bruce couldn't tell _why_. 

Between what had happened earlier and the way Alfred was acting now, worry started to creep through Bruce. Maybe Alfred hadn't liked him after all, once they'd tried things, and he was trying to redistance himself without hurting Bruce's feelings. Or maybe he felt bad that things had gone wrong. Both possibilities surfaced in Bruce's head, but his guardian was hiding his emotions so well that Bruce didn't know which was more likely. "Are you ok?"

"Yes, I'm ok," Alfred lied. "I just…think we should take it easy." He wanted to explain everything to Bruce right then and there, but there was too much. He'd already overwhelmed the boy enough in the worst possible way and now…backing out of it would be a slap in the face. It wouldn't save their relationship and most certainly wouldn't help Bruce's confidence. Alfred had to convey this gradually. He would have to tell Bruce, but it had to be done with as little damage as possible. If there was anything he could do to lessen the weight of this, Alfred had to do it. 

He squeezed Bruce's shoulder, trying to reassure the boy.

Bruce wasn't convinced. The wariness didn't leave his eyes upon hearing Alfred's words or feeling the comforting weight of a hand on his shoulder. Too many adults had tried to lie to him, now, since his parents' deaths. Too many had talked down to him, offered false reassurances, or tried to get him out of the way. There was a world of difference between the social niceties of his parents' acquaintances and the frank honesty of Detective Gordon, and Alfred's smile was a little too close to the former to do anything to ease Bruce's mind. If anything, now he was more worried.

"I... think I should probably go to bed now," Bruce finally murmured. He couldn't stand the tension anymore. The boy slid off the couch, set his mug on the table, and turned back towards Alfred. He leaned closer, wanting another kiss and now uncertain that Alfred would even grant him that.

Alfred leaned up to meet him, but kept it gentle, chaste, ensuring so with his hand in Bruce's hair before the boy pulled away slowly. "Alright." He wanted to smile again, to try once more to reassure Bruce, but the tension in the room was too strong. Alfred could see it hadn't worked. Bruce stepped back and he had to let the boy go. Their eyes caught. Alfred could feel himself being searched with Bruce's sharp mind. He wasn't sure what the boy saw. Alfred felt like a statue, something carved in stone, the weight of his limbs greater than he could lift.

Bruce backed up a few steps, then turned and fled, overwhelmed by the possibility that Alfred _was_ , in fact, rejecting him. And trying to let him down slowly, but rejecting him nonetheless. That last kiss had been worlds away from the others, with hardly anything of the older man behind it - a brush of skin against skin and nothing more, and a hand in his hair to prevent Bruce from seeking out anything deeper.

Tears were already springing to Bruce's eyes when he reached his bedroom. He slipped inside and slid down to the floor on the other side of the closed door, wrapping his arms around his legs. He choked back his sobs; he couldn't afford to cry right now. He had to _think_. He had to figure out what had gone wrong and fix it.

Across the empty manor, back down in the den, Alfred considered pouring himself a strong drink. He considered pouring himself ten. 

The boy's warmth had faded, leaving the blankets hanging loosely around him cold and empty where they'd fallen, the mugs of hot chocolate barely consumed and equally cold on the coffee table. Alfred couldn't bring himself to move. A very large part of him was in shock. How he could have made such an enormous lapse in judgement, he had no idea. How he could not have thought this through…. He'd seen how insecure Bruce was. The boy had practically spelled it out for him. And goddamn him, Alfred had gone along with his own whims anyway, foolishly, _willfully_ foolishly, believing Bruce could share the same desire. 

There was no doubt Bruce felt some desire for him, but a twelve year old's budding sexual fantasies and even greater need for a stable source of love were a world away from his own. 

Alfred pressed his palms to the backs of his eyes and wished he could take it all back. He wished he had never said anything, wished he had stayed strong, wished he had found a way he could have been there for Bruce as his _guardian_. Because the worst thing of all…was that he still wanted the boy. 

Slowly, he rose from the couch and treaded over to the cabinet beside the fireplace. Tall, imposing in its height and simplicity in contrast with the rest of the room's intricate furniture, Alfred opened it and took out a bottle of scotch. All the more fitting that this had been his employer's liquor. 

He found a glass and, after seeing to it that the door was closed, took both it and the bottle back to the couch, intent on thoroughly knocking himself out.

Bruce didn't sleep much that night. He alternated between tossing and turning in bed, and pacing in his room, bundled in slippers and a robe over his pajamas to combat the cold.

It didn't help much. The chill he felt inside had nothing to do with the nighttime drop in temperature.

Eventually, as the sky moved towards shades of grey and grew warmer, Bruce couldn't take it anymore. He left his room and walked down the hallway to Alfred's room, biting his lip in worry that he'd find it locked against him. It wasn't, but the bed was empty and crisply made. No sound came from the upper level bathroom, either. Bruce turned and wandered down the stairs towards the kitchen, guessing that the butler might be up early and taking care of breakfast, but the kitchen was dark and empty.

It was only then that Bruce started to panic, wondering if Alfred had fled the house entirely the previous night. He started to run, looking through each room as he went until he finally reached the den. The scent of woodsmoke still hung in the air, along with a bitter, pungeant tang that Bruce recognized from his parents' dinner parties: alcohol. Bruce could just make out a figure sprawled across the couch, an emptied bottle on the table in front of him, the embers in the grate now gone cold.

Bruce hesitated, staring for a long moment at Alfred's unconscious form. After a minute, he squared his shoulders and turned back down the hallways, returning to the kitchen. Alfred had always tried to ply him and cheer him up with food. Maybe having the favor returned would begin to mend things between them. Or so Bruce hoped as he flipped on the kitchen lights, found a chair to stand on to get into the cupboards, and began wracking his brain for what he could manage to make.

Alfred wasn't roused by the aroma of toast wafting down the hall, nor the quiet sizzle and crackle of frying eggs. He was roused by the headache. 

It all came back to him when he woke. He wished it hadn't. He wished he'd managed at least a few seconds' worth of ignorant bliss upon waking, maybe even confusion that he'd passed out on the couch, but there was no escaping what had happened last night. 

The sound and scents of the kitchen soon alerted him to the fact that he was not the only one up either. And the cracked door of the den told him that he'd probably been discovered. 

Alfred felt exhausted down to his very bones, but he was propelled forward, wiping a hand over his face and frowning in disgust over the cottony taste in his mouth before he visited the bathroom for a change of clothes and a quick splash of water. It took less than ten minutes before he was back down the hall, unable to avoid the kitchen for any longer.

As soon as he was through the doorway, Alfred got quite a sight. One that would have been endearing and warming if it wasn't for the memories of the previous night. Bruce was kneeling atop one of the kitchen chairs, not tall enough to quite see what he was doing from his own natural height. He'd found an apron in one of the drawers that was overlarge on him, cinched in to an extreme by the string ties in the back. A plate of toast, slightly burnt around some of the edges, was on the countertop beside him along with a few jam jars raided from the refrigerator. He was making an admirable effort with the skillet full of eggs, but they too were a little too browned around the edges, and Bruce was frowning at the pan in consternation.

Still, Alfred found himself smiling wistfully at the sight. He let Bruce go on for a few minutes, just watching the boy's focus. Alfred had always been amazed at Bruce's focus. There was nothing quite like it. When Bruce got wrapped up in something, his face would turn utterly blank, but his eyebrows would narrow ever so slightly, and it was the purest look of human concentration Alfred had ever seen. What came out of those bouts of concentration was often nothing short of extraordinary as well. 

Finally, Alfred let the boy know he was there. "Need a hand?"

Bruce's head whipped around. For one unsettling moment, Alfred was the focal point of that intense stare, and then it disintegrated into surprise. Surprise and concern; Bruce wavered, wanting to go towards the older man at the doorway, yet not knowing if that would make things worse beyond merely allowing breakfast to burn. "Um... maybe. Except that might ruin the purpose. Does it still count as me making you breakfast if you have to help cook it?" A shy smile touched the boy's mouth.

Alfred felt like he'd been kicked in the gut. Still he did his best not to show it. He raised his eyebrows, giving Bruce a look of surprise. "Making _me_ breakfast? That's highly unusual. I thought that was my job." He could see Bruce was still nervous. The way the boy held himself broadcast it blatantly, chin slightly down, eyes raised hopefully, face carefully set into a look of normality that probably matched Alfred's very nearly.

"I thought it might be nice, for once? Me taking care of you, instead of the other way around." Alfred was doing an admirable job of appearing put-together and neutral, but to Bruce's eyes, he looked haunted. Pale and drawn, with shadowed, red-rimmed eyes and an uneasiness that only told Bruce that his suspicions were correct. Alfred either hadn't enjoyed what they'd done the previous night, or he was feeling guilty about it.

Given that the older man had been enthusiastic until he'd overstepped and Bruce had demanded they stop, Bruce was willing to bet more on the latter. The boy swallowed down the sorrow that threatened to well up, and instead gave Alfred another tremulous smile. "Come here, please?"

Alfred was going to object. He was going to interrupt Bruce and tell the boy that it should be him taking care of Bruce and not the other way around, but the boy seemed to gain a margin of determination and Alfred was loathe to ruin it. So he came forward, stepping into the room and making his way to the stove where Bruce stood. "I can't be neglecting my responsibilities all the time you know," Alfred chastised softly. "Let this not become a habit."

"You're not the only responsible one." Bruce glanced up at Alfred, then turned back to poking at the eggs in the pan. "I'm not helpless just because there's some things I can't do for myself, or have trouble doing. Or things I don't know about yet."

The pan crackled and hissed, the only noise filling the room for a few moments as Bruce and Alfred both stayed silent. Bruce kept sneaking glances at Alfred out of the corner of his eye. "...please don't feel bad about last night. I don't."

"Bruce…." Alfred's eyes lowered, a near admission that Bruce's assumption had been accurate. Slowly, he shook his head. The boy was opening up conversation between them. It was time. "I shouldn't have allowed this to happen. I shouldn't have allowed myself to think about you that way from the very beginning." Alfred raised his gaze to meet Bruce's. "Can you see why? Why this isn't the same as…as caring for you, being there for you? Because that's what you deserve, not…."

Hurt filtered back into the boy's features, but not alone - that intense focus had returned, fierce and unrelenting. The same look Bruce had gotten when he'd insisted on beginning his detective work regarding his parents' deaths, or when he'd asked Alfred to teach him how to fight. The youth was preparing for a fight about this, and he wasn't going to back down. "No. You're right, it's different, but it's not like you have to pick between one or the other. I want both, and I asked for both. Why don't you think I deserve it?"

Alfred sighed. "Because it's going to hurt you in the end. Maybe sooner than that. Now I know you feel…something for me, but Bruce…I don't want to hurt you. And the thought that I will. It's just. I can't do it." Alfred wanted to touch the boy. He wanted to reach out and connect them again as he had been allowed to last night before everything went wrong, but he couldn't. It wouldn't be right. He felt more helpless here than he had felt in a very, very long time, and it wasn't even for his own sake. Arguing for Bruce's wellbeing, against Bruce himself, was not an uncommon activity between the two of them, but never like this.

Bruce picked up the frying pan and set it aside on one of the cool burners. He turned and rose to his feet on the chair, making himself slightly taller than Alfred. His hands curled into the fabric of Alfred's shirt before the older man could move out of reach, not quite touching him, but holding him there. "But why do you think it's going to hurt me, even when you don't want it to? Even when you're being careful? I haven't had something like this before but... that just means I have things to learn, things I don't know yet. Not that I _can't_."

Bruce swallowed, fighting down the urge to cry. "And I'd rather learn with someone I care about, who cares about me, too, and is going to be careful. The boys at school didn't care if they hurt me, and I'm not sure if things will be better elsewhere either. People don't see me, they see The Wayne Heir, and that's going to be what they care about."

"Oh Bruce." Alfred wrapped his arms carefully around the boy's back. He was welcomed. Bruce was no longer afraid of his touch, just hesitant of overstepping boundaries. Such a small consolation, and one Alfred was wary of lasting. "I'll be here for you, as long as you need me, but you know you're going to want to go out and meet other people eventually. That's part of growing up, nothing bad. Not everyone will treat you that way. You'll just have to find them."

"I want you, though." Bruce had lost the battle with his composure. His chin fell, and he ended up leaning against Alfred's chest. The boy had a death grip on Alfred's shirt, and the older man could feel damp circles started to appear across his front. "I'm sorry if I scared you, or you felt bad, after you scared me yesterday. I don't want you to shut me out again."

"No, I won't do that, but…." Alfred could feel his resolve crumble just a little. Bruce was so very adamant about it. He sounded so very certain that this was what he wanted, never mind what had happened last night, but Alfred couldn't help but be reminded just how lonely the boy was. Bruce was right when he said there was no one else in his life to turn to, and it broke the man's heart. "No. I won't shut you out again. You can ask me for anything you like." Alfred crumbled a little more. "Anything you want." He'd already broken what they'd had before. He was going to have to live with the consequences. He couldn't take away the affection Bruce so desperately needed again. 

The only thing Alfred could do now was make this about Bruce's wants. Not his own.

Bruce's arms tightened. He straightened a little, just enough to press his lips against Alfred's neck in a soft kiss. "...maybe later, when you're feeling better. You probably have a big headache right now, if you felt bad enough that you fell asleep on the couch." Bruce shifted, still not quite willing to let the older man go enough to get a good look at him. "I think I might need some cooking lessons. Breakfast is pretty burnt."

Alfred laughed softly, dropping his head to the boy's shoulder, now only a very short distance away. He felt like he'd been damned and forgiven all at once. "That's alright. It'd probably taste about the same to me right now anyway." He sighed before pulling back, releasing his hold and slipping away from Bruce's grasp. But only just. Alfred only moved back enough to help the boy off the chair. He found the plate of toast and the other of eggs and carried them across to the island countertop while Bruce grabbed some extra plates. With practice Alfred dished up a few eggs and pieces of toast for them both before he sat and took a bite. Burnt indeed. But really, the intentions behind it tasted better. Alfred smiled again. "Not bad for a first try."

Bruce brightened up at the praise. Only now was it apparent just how much his worry over their relationship had hung over him that morning. Dark circles still told of a night spent without rest, and a slight puffiness remained as evidence of the boy's tears, but his mood had bounced back admirably. He ate the burnt fare without complaint, the bulk of his attention at the man sitting across from him rather than what was on his plate. "It'll get better with practice. Everything seems to work that way."

Alfred still couldn't help his discomfort with those words as he bit into a well buttered piece of toast. He chewed carefully, licked his lips, swallowed, and noted the boy watching him. Carefully, he cleared his throat. "That wasn't…." Tried again. "You shouldn't have to get used to anything you aren't comfortable with, Bruce." He glanced to meet the boy's eyes before slicing an egg. "And that was my fault." 

Alfred chewed resolutely, letting that sink in between them. Whatever this thing was that was between them, it had to be about what Bruce wanted. Not what Bruce thought Alfred wanted.

Bruce blushed, but he didn't break eye contact for once. Adults were able to talk about such things, and he wanted to be treated as an adult in this. "I meant all of this. I really... liked what we were doing, until you kept going and it felt like too much. I wasn't expecting that, and I wasn't ready to try to keep going." His flush deepened. "That doesn't mean I didn't like it. Or don't want to do it again. Just not too much right now, until I decide I might want to try more."

Alfred sighed softly. "Well. I'll just leave that part to you, then." That was the best he could hope for. Anything…further sexual between them would have to be up to Bruce, if he really wanted it. Not just because he thought Alfred wanted it. But Alfred could manage the rest. He'd laid his cards on the table already; there was nothing left to hide, and at least for that reason he didn't feel such need to distance himself from the boy lest Bruce should find out the truth.

Bruce finished his half of breakfast first and rose to put his plate in the sink. "I'm going to go work on the case files for a while, since you're probably not feeling up to fighting lessons today. And I'm still bruised. I'll come find you in a bit. Alright?" Bruce barely waited for Alfred's nod of assent before he dashed off. He was doing to the room that was now dedicated towards his amateur detective work, but he hadn't quite been telling the truth. 

Now that certain things were a reality instead of a fantasy, Bruce had more research to do. He didn't want to get caught off-guard again.

Alfred let the boy go before he dropped his head to his hands. That had gone…better. But they weren't through yet. It would come up again, more than just sitting on the couch together with blankets and warm drinks by the fireside, and Alfred didn't know what he was going to do. 

In silence he finished his breakfast and cleared off the plates absently before fishing out some aspirin. One thing was certain, his mind wasn't going to let him rest any time soon.

Bruce spent the better part of a morning and afternoon listening for footsteps outside the door while curled up in a chair with his laptop, researching gay sex and sexuality. Not regarding people his own age - he knew well enough to know that what he and Alfred had was illegal, and that internet searches were not as anonymous as one might think - but enough to start getting an idea of the _possibilities_ of what was out there, what people liked to do. After several graphic photo galleries, archives of short videos, and threads on discussion fora, Bruce was feeling overwhelmed and overstimulated. Some of what he'd seen was impossible for him as he currently was, and some was too adventurous for him to feel comfortable trying it anytime soon, but the rest...

Bruce had a difficult time not projecting himself into that media. Projecting _Alfred_ into it. He drew in a shaky breath and ran one hand through his hair. He exited out of the sites and deleted the history from his browser. When he slipped out into the hallway, his mind was bent towards finding Alfred, securing the truce they'd come to that morning, and exploring some of what he'd discovered.

It didn't take long to find the man in the den again. Alfred was bent over the coffee table with a steaming mug of it beside him and several papers spread about. He'd put the room back in order since this morning and, not being able to keep his mind distracted enough on menial tasks, had taken to sorting the finances. When he heard a soft step at the door, Alfred glanced up immediately. 

There stood Bruce, dark hair pushed back, shoulders straight, gaze fixed on Alfred. The look in his eye was all calculation, like he was trying to see through the man. 

Alfred swallowed. "Any breaks in the case?"

"No, not yet." Bruce moved forward, each step slow and deliberate, fixed on Alfred, and the older man suddenly had a glimpse of just how intimidating and willful Bruce was going to be once he'd grown. Barely level with Alfred's shoulder in terms of height, somehow the boy was still projecting a presence that filled the room. Or maybe it was the added glint in Bruce's gaze, far more secure than he'd been that morning and far more demanding. "But I had ideas about some other things."

Alfred put down his pen. He could feel his heart beating faster and he wasn't sure if the stirring in his gut was due to worry or…something else. "Like what?" 

Bruce's gaze didn't break. The boy didn't flinch or look any less determined. Alfred sat stock still. All this stillness was starting to weigh on the atmosphere around them. There could be no question of the boy's intent now.

Bruce had steeled himself for this - not to flinch, not to be overly shy or embarrassed if he could help it. Alfred still hadn't been very confident when Bruce had left him at the breakfast table. The only way Bruce could think of to make things more secure and prove that this was what he wanted for himself was to _show_ Alfred as much.

The boy hid his nervousness as much as he could, trying to emulate some of what he'd watched in the videos. Bruce moved around the table, eyes on Alfred the entire time, until he stood in front of the older man. Small hands closed on Alfred's shoulders and pushed him back against the couch before starting to unravel him. Alfred's tie went first, tugged out of its tidy knot and carelessly tossed to the floor, and Bruce started to make quick work of the buttons of his waistcoat and shirt. The boy had a hard look about him all the while, daring Alfred to say a word in protest or to imply, yet again, that Bruce didn't know what he wanted.

Alfred's face colored. He could feel the heat of it. He saw Bruce's clear, calculating eye catch on it and he knew the boy could tell the reaction he'd caused wasn't simply one of renewed guilt. Even though Alfred did feel that guilt. It was just…Bruce had never looked at him like this before. Alfred found he couldn't pull the boy's hands away. He didn't want to. And damn him this was just how it happened last time. The fabric at his chest parted, Bruce's small fingers pushing it to the side, both layers, and Alfred finally snapped back to attention. He held his hands to the side, now willing himself not to move.

Bruce pushed Alfred again, until the older man got the idea and turned, laying down on the couch. Bruce had a split-second moment of hesitation, his nerves getting the best of his resolve, and then he was moving again - untying Alfred's shoes and tugging them off to fall to the floor. His socks followed. Bruce turned his gaze towards Alfred's face once his hands reached the fastenings of the man's trousers, looking for permission. If Alfred had to get his assent to touch him, it was only fair that they be equal in that regard.

"Bruce…." Alfred's voice came out a whisper. The boy paused, piercing gaze unwavering. "You don't have to do that." But Alfred couldn't hide the effect it was having on him. Not with the evidence growing right in front of Bruce, even hidden under layers of cloth. Even when Alfred tried to fight it down. Still he went on. "Why don't we stick to things you know you enjoy?" Alfred fought not to fix his gaze to Bruce's knuckles hovering over the hem of his trousers. He had to hold the boy's gaze. He had to make him understand.

"You told me you were going to leave things up to me, when I decided I wanted to try more." Bruce searched Alfred's face and found traces of the older man's arousal and uncertainty. It gave him a confidence boost; he wasn't the only one who was on unsteady ground, and right now he was in control. Still, he hesitated. Alfred hadn't exactly given his consent. "I know that I don't have to do anything. I want to try something different this time. If you're alright with it, that is."

Time might as well have stopped as Alfred came to this crossroads. Damn him. Damn him. Damn everything that had ever brought him to this point with the young Wayne heir. But Alfred couldn't say no. It stood to reason that if he cared for Bruce, if he truly loved the boy, he should have been able to. But it didn't work like that. Alfred's life had never worked like that. And so, after a heavy breath, Alfred nodded.

Bruce turned his attention back to the task at hand, moving slowly. Clever fingers worked the button free, then dragged the zipper tab down, fabric parting as he went. Alfred's interest hadn't been subtle before, but it was undeniable now. Bruce paused and eyed the tented front of Alfred's boxers, reassessing just how sizeable the older man was. After a moment he latched onto Alfred's trousers and pulled them off to join the socks and shoes on the floor. 

He'd just started to reach for the waistband of Alfred's last piece of clothing when Bruce's eyes turned sideways. "Oh! Um. I... stay right there, don't move. I... I forgot something, I'll be right back." Bruce stood and dashed out of the room. A split second later Alfred heard his footsteps thumping up the stairwell.

Alfred's head hit the back of the sofa. Dread coiled with the anticipation welling in his gut. A small part of him feared the boy would come back down with a polaroid and end the charade. Alfred almost laughed. But Bruce hadn't sounded nervous. He'd left with…a note of excitement. Alfred glanced down at himself, wondering if he should feel self conscious being so much older than Bruce. He found it odd that he didn't, not right now. Not when he was grown and Bruce probably only wished he was as well. There was a certain amount of pride in that.

Alfred pulled himself up just enough to be ready when he heard the boy's footsteps back on the stairs.

Bruce skidded to a halt right in front of the couch, a small pump bottle clenched in one hand. Alfred recognized it from the bathroom upstairs. Bruce deposited it on the coffee table without another word and began to work on stripping off his own clothes. His shirt joined Alfred's clothing on the floor, followed by his trousers, shoes, and everything else. Only when he was completely bare did he step closer again, a little self-conscious as he avoided Alfred's eyes. Bruce's fingers hooked around the waistband of the older man's boxers and began to pull them down.

It was impossible not to survey every inch of Bruce's skin, even as Alfred was being stripped himself. His fingertips caught on Bruce's forearms, not stopping him, just slowing him down as the final piece of fabric came away and slid down Alfred's legs. And then Bruce was staring, and Alfred couldn't help the way he was smiling, warmth blooming in him just for the fact that Bruce had done this. He could see a faint reddening over the boy's cheeks. Bruce avoided Alfred's eyes. He seemed to not know exactly where to look at all. 

Gently, Alfred drew his fingertips down Bruce's bare arm, encouraging contact between them.

Touch helped. Bruce was reminded that he wasn't alone in this. His attraction wasn't one-sided, and Alfred wasn't one to mock him. Tease him in other things, perhaps, but Alfred had known well enough not to add any more tension when Bruce was already a bit insecure. 

A hint of a smile signalled the return of Bruce's courage. He snatched the lotion bottle back up from where he'd left it. His eyes never stopped moving. Bruce wanted to look, badly, but also was obviously self-conscious about studying someone else's anatomy while they watched him do it. "I thought we could use this. I heard that if you can make things slippery enough, you can slide against one another and have it feel good."

Alfred had to close his eyes for a moment. His lips parted. He took a breath. When he opened them he found Bruce watching him intently, dissecting his reaction. Alfred tried to pull himself together. "That. That is a fair assessment." Bruce blinked and Alfred's mouth turned upward, before it broke into a real grin. "Come here." With a hand to Bruce's elbow, Alfred drew him closer, leading him up to the couch. Alfred kept his touches light, ever wary of the last time, but the thought of Bruce sitting atop his lap was too much to let pass by. And he knew Bruce was nervous. Though this had to be directed by the boy, that didn't mean Alfred couldn't guide him.

"That's my line." Alfred quirked an eyebrow, but sure enough - Bruce's small smile had grown into something mischievious. The boy was attempting to joke around and _tease_ him. Bruce climbed onto the couch to join Alfred, settling across his thighs. The boy had finally given into temptation and glanced down, studying Alfred now that he finally had the opportunity to see him unclothed. Comparing the contrasting size and skin tone of their bodies.

Bruce was much softer, much paler, but not the dull, pinkish sort. His skin was creamy, smooth, untarnished. Not like Alfred's at all. Alfred let his eyes wander as much as he liked. He wasn't going to deny himself that. "Is that so?" he asked softly, picking up the teasing edge that Bruce had adopted. "In that case, I'm at your mercy, aren't I?" He caught Bruce's eyes flitting up to him, looking much greener in the warm light. How the boy could change. He was amazing. There would never be anyone like Bruce Wayne.

"Yes. Always," Bruce agreed. Every second that passed where Alfred accepted him and gladly let him have control instilled just a bit more confidence in the boy. Bruce's gaze followed a silvered dusting of hair up to Alfred's navel, and kept going. He lingered over a faded tattoo on one of Alfred's arms - a spread-winged eagle with a globe and anchor. 

"Someday, you're going to have to tell me that story." Bruce's hands worked at the lotion pump, doling out a bit and rubbing it across his palms to warm it. He glanced at Alfred's face just as he reached down to take Alfred in hand. "How you ended up in the Marines and over here, if your accent is from England."

"Is that an—ahh—," Alfred should have known better than to talk. His words dissolved into a gasp as he felt small, slippery fingers wrap around his cock. Immediately it hardened fully and Alfred could see Bruce's eyes widen as the boy felt it. He took another breath. He did his best not to jerk into the touch. It was so hard staying still, and glancing down didn't help, not when the _sight_ of his reddened length sliding inside Bruce's pale hand was there to meet him. Finally Alfred choked the rest out. "Is that an order?"

The effect on Bruce was instantaneous. Alfred's words, and the context they were set in, brought a sharp, intent look to the boy's face. For a moment he was breathless at the possibility that he could order Alfred around in this, as well as on the occasions when he disagreed with his guardian on more mundane things. 

Bruce gave an experimental twist of his hands, just to watch what would happen. Pleased at the way Alfred struggled not to thrust up against his hands, Bruce inclined his head. "Yes, it's an order. But not right now. Right now I want you to... to... put your arms behind the pillow behind your head. Like I've tied you up. You're not allowed to touch me yet." Having Alfred be passive for a while was the best idea Bruce could come up with in terms of convincing the man that he was doing this for _himself_ , not because he thought he had to. Bruce suspected that Alfred's guilt attacks wouldn't lessen until he believed that Bruce was making his own choices.

Alfred barely believed he'd heard Bruce right, but his hands were already lifting, sliding behind the pillow, laying him open for the boy. He didn't bother to hide the way a slow smile drew across his face, or the way he knew his expression gave Bruce much more than that. "Yes _sir_." It came out almost a whisper, but Alfred could see the way Bruce's eyes fixed on him at that. He could even see the boy's pupils dilate. The boy's hand squeezed ever so slightly and Alfred's lips parted again. This wasn't going to be as easy as he'd thought, just lying back and letting Bruce do what he liked.

Bruce had only started exploring his budding sexuality, and already he'd discovered one particular taste. The boy watched in fascination as he coaxed small reactions out of Alfred with a touch, look, or a shift of his hips, and still the older man stayed obedient and still. With as much instability as he'd suffered in his short life, control was now utterly tantalizing. 

Bruce gave Alfred another slow stroke, quickly catching on to ways to tease the man. "...when did you start liking me, anyways?"

Alfred's stomach dropped. He knew his eyes had widened, Bruce watched him so carefully. He moistened his lips, not wanting to ruin the mood. "Earlier than you started liking me, I'm sure." 

It wasn't an answer. The half smile Alfred offered was tinged with the same flavor of guilt he'd had for Bruce earlier and there was no hiding it from the boy. Alfred didn't want to upset Bruce. He only knew he didn't want to lie in this.

"Alfred, that doesn't really tell me anything," Bruce chastised. He noted the shame and hesitance that clung to Alfred's skin, the same as he'd seen earlier. As if Alfred thought he'd put Bruce up to this, or tricked him into it. Bruce let go of Alfred's cock and reached for the lotion bottle again, trying to think. "I don't mind if you liked me before I liked you. I do mind that you hide things from me or act like things are terrible, like everything is your fault. It's not your fault."

Bruce coated himself with the warmed lotion, then changed positions. He scooted up until he was no longer straddling Alfred's thighs, but his waist. He leaned down just enough for their cocks to barely touch. "I made up my own mind about you."

Alfred stifled a gasp. The sight of Bruce like this. The _feel_ of Bruce like this. Goosebumps were breaking out across his skin and he wondered if the boy would notice the way Bruce noticed little things like that. "For years," Alfred admitted softly. He had to push it out of himself, the weight of such an admission too heavy to go easily. "You weren't… You had no idea." He watched Bruce carefully, which was hard like this. Trying to catch signs of discomfort in the boy's face when he was straddling Alfred's hips and Alfred could _feel_ him so close, _so close_ , but not enough. "I knew it wasn't right. But that doesn't mean I didn't care about you any less."

If Bruce was discomfited, no outward sign presented itself. He was far too busy watching Alfred in turn. Alfred was beginning to show the signs of his age - wrinkles here and there, a surface-level softness to his body at odds with well-maintained muscle underneath, dark hair that had gone silver too early for Alfred's tastes. Bruce wasn't put off; if anything, from the way he kept glancing at it and had snuck touches here and there before, Bruce seemed to find the silver color attractive.

"I didn't have any idea," Bruce agreed. He lowered his body a bit more, and then they were nestled against one another in earnest. Bruce watched the way Alfred tensed with a desire to move, smiled when the older man stayed still. "You thought it wasn't right. Do you still think that now? Even if it's my idea, what I want?" Without waiting for a response, Bruce tentatively slid his hips forward.

Alfred couldn't answer. He was too busy doing his best not to writhe back against the boy. He couldn't stop the sound that escaped his lips, something breathless and guttural. He hooked his hands together behind the pillow just to remind himself not to move them from where they were. Needless to say, if Bruce was looking for a reaction, he got it. 

The touch had barely enough pressure. Bruce was still so light, and there was little force behind it. Alfred found himself straining for more. Bruce had asked him a question, and the boy was waiting for an answer. It was a question Alfred could have answered with certainty fifteen minutes ago, but now…. Now he couldn't find the certainty he'd had before, not when looking into Bruce's face like this, his eyes so clear, so determined. 

"I think…" Alfred began slowly, "The only way I'll know…is when you tell me ten years from now."

That determined look only sharpened. Bruce's gaze turned thoughtful for a moment, and then he started to move. His inexperience showed through the small mistakes - missing the mark, applying too much force or not enough, the way Bruce struggled to find and keep a rhythm - but already he was more adventurous than the previous night.

The friction and the sight of Bruce's young body rocking against him were already more than enough to set Alfred's blood burning, but the look Bruce gave him while he slid back and forth was... indescribable. More than the indiscriminate and enthusiastic lust of the adolescent. More, even, than the sharp desperation of a boy who felt alone and alienated from the world, craving affection and a stable human connection. Somewhere along the line, Bruce's feelings for Alfred had transformed from detached and confrontational to a love that held a dark thread of possessiveness. Memories resurfaced in Alfred's mind of all the times the boy had seemed quietly amused and pleased at being called Master Bruce. Those memories now held a very different context.

The thought that Bruce might have begun to enjoy Alfred's honorific name for him for _that_ reason made Alfred lose his breath. He could only imagine how significant the title might become in casual conversation. Even in company. Thoughts of Bruce's cheeks flushing at company social events every time Alfred addressed him passed through Alfred's mind. It was tantalizing. He couldn't stop himself anymore. On the next downward thrust of Bruce's narrow hips, Alfred pushed up, meeting the boy, grinding against him while the lotion and Alfred's arousal did wonders for the friction.

Under difference circumstances, Bruce might have been intimidated by having his affections returned. Such had been the case the previous night, when Bruce had felt control spiral out of his grasp and draw him into unfamiliar territory that he hadn't planned for. Now, however, he found only satisfaction. Alfred wasn't turning him away, or wracked by guilt, or trying to take control away from him.

Alfred had been afraid that Bruce would interpret this change in their relationship as something regretful, as something the boy would have to fulfill in exchange for receiving any affection and care at all. Really, the butler should have been worried about the opposite: how was Alfred now going to be able to deny Bruce anything, to rein the boy in when his focus turned to darker territory?

The thought was one he could barely consider now, but at the glint of Bruce's eyes, dark lashes lowered, that hungry look in them, Alfred felt its fleeting presence. He wanted to move his hands. He wanted to touch the boy. He wanted to run his hands over Bruce's back, between shoulder blades he knew were razor sharp and hair that was thick and soft above such a delicate neck. Alfred was struck by Bruce's beauty. Whatever the boy wanted to do to him, with him, he found himself willing to take it. Alfred wanted him so much. The slide between them was almost agonizing, feeling Bruce's small body, soft and sharp all at once, pliant and yet demanding, and wanting more, imagining how more would feel. The slick slide had other ideas forming behind Alfred's eyes, but this was good. This was more than he'd ever dreamed he could have. " _Bruce._ "

The need in the old man's voice brought a hint of slyness to Bruce's mouth. "Yes, Alfred?" Things were going even better than he'd planned, but Bruce was discovering some of the limitations of his youth and inexperience. It took a great deal of concentration to keep from losing himself to the excitement and ending things prematurely, and the size difference between them meant that Bruce's limbs were occupied with keeping him propped up enough to maintain the rhythm between them, rather than free to explore everywhere he wanted to touch.

Alfred's eyes closed for a second, fleeting thoughts of the night before warning him against it, but... "Can I touch you?"

Alfred could make this good. He could make this _better_. He was sure of it. He was terrified of overstepping his bounds now, but...he could help where Bruce was inexperienced. The boy's arms were going to get tired and he hadn't realized yet how he could let his weight fall against Alfred completely and still keep moving, and Alfred, Alfred could hold him. 

Bruce paused. A cautious look returned to his face as he tried to determine what, precisely, Alfred had meant by that. "...touch me how? I don't... want to be underneath again, if that's what you mean. Not right now." Not for awhile, even, until he'd grown more confident that Alfred wasn't going to take control away from him again, and that he knew what to expect.

Alfred shook his head. "No. Just..." Alfred tentatively let his hands fall from where Bruce had ordered them, touching fingers to the boy's hair and letting the other trail down his back, down to cup the soft flesh of his rear, indicating he could help the boy move, that he could hold Bruce up even if the touch was light and hesitant now. "Like this."

"Oh." Bruce considered for a moment, his eyes going distant. Alfred's thumb stroked across soft skin and Bruce shivered. His mind was quickly made up. "Yes, that's alright." Accepting and receptive touch, not dominating or controlling.

Alfred's fingers splayed through the hair at the back of Bruce's head. His eyes shuttered closed again, just for a moment, just enough to enjoy the sensation. When he pressed his hand against Bruce's hip, urging him back into the pace, the boy rocked down instinctively. It brought a little smile to Alfred's face, wondering if Bruce would fight that. Alfred was gentle this time. He let his hands wander over Bruce, softly caressing, only encouraging his movements when he could feel the boy growing tired. 

And grow tired he did, in body if not in mind. His exercise routines and fighting lessons had been kept almost religiously, but the muscles used for this were not those used for running or punching. Bruce's form grew closer and finally dropped down flat against Alfred's body, still trying to move even after his arms began to give out. Bruce was slowly starting to realize that, as good as this felt, it wasn't going to be quite enough for him. Nothing like the previous night, at any rate.

Soft lips pressed to the side of his cheek and one of Alfred's hands stroked down his back in a warm embrace while the other took a firmer grip of Bruce's hips. Alfred pushed up at the same time he drew Bruce down, beginning the slide again while the boy could relax. The noise that drew out of Bruce's throat made him shiver, not just at the sound, but because he could feel it from the very depth of the boy's body. 

Before long, Alfred had both hands against the swell of Bruce's ass, rocking the boy down against him, pressure steadily building between the slide of each other and their stomachs. 

Bruce's hands gripped Alfred's shoulders to anchor himself, which meant that he felt every him Alfred's muscles tensed to pull him down. Bruce's eyes shut despite himself, and after a few more seconds of strong hands at his hips and the feel of them both grinding heatedly together, Bruce cried out and shuddered in a dry release. He could still feel the warm imprint where Alfred had kissed his cheek.

Alfred gasped when he felt it. The boy's body tensed. Bruce's soft breath tickled his neck. It sent shivers all the way down Alfred's spine and he had to resist the urge to envelope the boy completely let he suffocate him in the embrace. He could feel the tightening pressure in his own groin, even as Bruce lay boneless against him. He turned his head, pressing into the soft hair between Bruce's ear and temple, feeling the boy's eyelashes quiver at his cheek, the way his jaw had gone slack, the way his small chest was heaving still, and Alfred kissed Bruce there as he came. The release travelled through him like pure, hot energy, like Bruce had sank right into him, every bit of contact ecstasy. 

Alfred froze when it happened. His breath came in shudders, but he wasn't vocal. All he wanted to do was hold Bruce and never let go. 

Bruce caught his breath quickly, with all the ease of youth, not old enough yet to have refraction time. His head turned enough to allow him to look up at Alfred from beneath his dark lashes, still flushed with pleasure and a hint of a boyish smile. A victory smile, because for him, it was. He'd fixed the problem between them and caused the older man to set aside his guilt, and he'd faced down his anxieties about sex and what sort of changes this would bring to their lives together.

Alfred hadn't let go, but Bruce didn't feel entrapped and scared this time. He didn't want him to let go.  
It was difficult, at first, for Alfred to believe what he saw in Bruce's face, but his body was already too relaxed and too content to allow those niggling worries of earlier threaten it. Warmth bloomed in his chest at the sight of Bruce's smile, and Alfred found himself smiling back. It came easily. It came with the surety, more surety than he'd had until now at least, that as long as Bruce got what he wanted, as long as Bruce had control, the boy could indeed be happy. 

Perhaps the boy's father had been right about him the whole time.

Bruce didn't want to move. The space between them was sticky, which was an unpleasant and unfamiliar feeling, but not enough to persuade the boy to slip away and get cleaned off. Everything had gone as well as he'd hoped, but part of him was afraid it would unravel as soon as he let go. That Alfred, when no longer faced with the solid reality of Bruce atop him, would begin to doubt again and resummon the specter of guilt. "...better this time?"

"I think so," Alfred replied softly, the amendment 'if you think so' went unsaid, but it was clear nonetheless. This time, however, Bruce did seem sure of that. And more sure of himself. 

Only time would tell if that remained to be the case, and Alfred knew that his first assumptions still held true. It wouldn't be within a day or a week or a month, even if this new dynamic between them progressed, but years down the road that Bruce would know. Alfred still felt the guilt of that, but the boy had already been through so much. If this was what he wanted, then maybe Alfred could make it as good as he possibly could. And just maybe that would be enough. 

Bruce was eyeing him with consideration. Alfred gave him a smile, one that reached his eyes. "I think it's time for a shower."

Bruce easily returned the smile. "I think so too." Rather than let go, Bruce scooted up closer, enough to nearly smother Alfred in a hug. Bruce's voice was soft against his ear. "...does this mean you'll sleep with me when I ask now, too?"

Alfred wasn't prepared for the way that sparked another pang of arousal in him, even in his exhausted state. His smile grew, curled at the corners. He knew exactly how it looked because, as the boy pulled back just enough to see his face, Bruce's smile curved to mirror his own. 

"Yes," Alfred drew his fingers through Bruce's hair. "Yes, _Master Bruce_. It would be my pleasure."


End file.
